


I'm On Fire

by theythinktheyknow



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Conflicted Eddie, Conflicted Richie, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Slow burn i guess?, Song fic, Teen Angst, Teenagers, shitty parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-16 11:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21507235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theythinktheyknow/pseuds/theythinktheyknow
Summary: So. . . this is gonna be a song fic based on Bruce Springsteen's "I'm On Fire" (fucking fantastic masterpiece of a song), cause every time I've listened to it recently it's just screamed Reddie Vibes at me, and. . . I had no choice.   Each chapter will be a line from the song, (it's a pretty short song), so yeah, should be fun, should be good.  :)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. Hey little girl, is your daddy home?

_Hey little girl, is your daddy home?_   
_Did he go away and leave you all alone?_   
_I got a bad desire_   
_Oh oh oh, I'm on fire_

It’s late at night when Richie gets the phone call, the metallic ringing jolting him out of sleep. His Micronta reads _2:31_ , he can just barely make out the red glowing digits without his glasses, in the blackness of his bedroom. He answers on the last ring, barely making it in time with how long it took to pull himself out of bed.

“What the fuck is it?” Insolence was the last thing on his mind at the present moment.

“ _Rich. . ._ ” came the whispered voice he recognized immediately, even in his sleep-ridden state.

“Eds? Shit, man, what the fuck are you calling me for at ass-thirty in the morning?” Richie’s sunk his voice lower, now, reminded by Eddie’s whispering drone that he definitely shouldn't be shouting right now, not unless he wants one very angry Went busting in on him. He holds the phone tight to his ear with both hands, listening to the quick and erratic breaths coming from within.

“ _My mom—fuck_ —” Eddie can’t seem to get the words out around his gasps. He hiccups and wheezes for another moment, and it’s all Richie can bear to stand there and just listen to this. His stomach twists in on itself, uncomfort building up through his windpipe and settling at the back of his throat. He swallows it down—this is about Eddie.

“— _Mommy h-hit me_ ”, is finally choked out of Eddies mouth, the words spoken so quietly, and the uncomfortable feeling that was in Richies throat falls to his stomach in a pinch of pain. His eyes have started to adjust to the darkness, and he stares straight ahead at the Bowie poster on the opposite wall. Ziggy Stardust holds his gaze, his red hair alight with flames, the red background surrounding him, and Richie thinks it’s so fucking fitting. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to be weird, but the feelings of panic and anger are broiling together, mixing around in hot, red, churning motions, and he knows he wants to do _something._

“Do you, like. . .do you want me to come over? Are you fuckin’ okay?” He doesn’t know if it’s too much worry or not enough, he never knows where the boundaries lie with Eddie, never knows how much he’s supposed to give, how much is too much. But Eddie is breathing something fierce in his ear, practically crying out for him, and Ziggy Stardust is staring him straight through, and all he can see is _red_. So when Eddie manages to whimper out a small please, he doesn’t think twice. The phone is back on the hook and he’s jumping into his discarded blue jeans, grabbing his glasses, already out the window and onto the dew-filled lawn before Went or Maggie Tozier even have a chance to toss or turn in their sleep.

一一一一一一

Eddies room is warm, warmer than the frigid November air outside, and the sweat that had miraculously formed against Richies forehead on his sprint across town was cool to the touch. After the awkward few minutes of standing shivering below Eddies window, pelting pebbles at the glass above his head, and the even more awkward ordeal of shimming up the latticework, he was warm once again. But the warmth didn’t do anything for his unease, in fact his stomach only continued to churn, once he actually came face to face with Eddie. He just looked so _small_ , sitting on the edge of his bed with his feet tucked underneath him, wearing his _Thundercats_ pajamas. _Fuckin’ Thundercats,_ Richie thought, almost delirious with the combination of worry and fear, and whatever hormones had caused him to make his late night sprint across town. But nothing could prepare Richie for the drop in his stomach when he finally caught sight of Eddies face.

The skin around his left eye was purplish-red, the freckles Richie loved to concentrate on when he thought no one was looking were no longer visible, and Richies heart actually broke. He was sure of this, because he could swear he heard the sound it made when it slammed against the floor. In reality it was only the window frame losing its grip from where he’d left it open, and sliding back into place rather forcefully, officially closing them off from the outside world.

Richie was in front of him almost immediately, kneeling against the scratchy carpet, not sure what to do with his hands.

“Fuck, Eds, what did she do to you. . .?” Eddie didn’t say anything at first, and his breathing was still labored and uneven. Eventually, he spoke, keeping his eyes downcast.

“It was like she just. . . snapped, I guess,” and by this point the tears in his eyes were obvious to Richie, who felt his own stinging dangerously. “One minute I was just talking, we were fucking eating dinner, and I was talking about, like, how I was thinking about joining JV track, remember how I told you,” and he looks at Richie, who just nods, because yes, he remembers the way Eddies eyes had lit up at the prospect of finally joinging a sport, even just the Junior Varsity squad. He remembers every fuckin’ time Eddie’s smiled at him, for Gods sake. Eddie drops his gaze again. “We were just fuckin’ talking—I mean, _I_ was talking, she was yelling. And all of a sudden she was just. . . there. Right in my face. It’s like I didn’t even see her get up from her chair. She just kept. . . raggin’ on me, wouldn’t let me get a fuckin’ word in edgewise, telling me _no way am I gonna be allowed to do this,_ not with my _delicate bones_. And I’m like _Ma, I’m fifteen years old, I’m not a God damn baby anymore,_ and. . .” he swallows, keeping his eyes down, still. “. . .and she, she got me. Right in the eye. It was over fuckin’ quick, sent me to my room and . . . stuff.” And Eddie ends his word vomit almost unceremoniously, with a cough into his fist. It’s all Richie can do to not burst into his own tears. When Eddie finally rips his gaze away from the floor, and meets Richies eyes, looking so fucking sad, whatever boundaries lay in place previously are gone, as if the window were still open, and they jumped out into the night.

Richies on the bed in seconds, his arms wrapping around Eddie in a semi-hug, pulling him up onto his lap at the same time. Eddies head just falls against his chest, as if the weight of it is too much to bear any longer. He isn’t exactly crying anymore, but he’s started a new round of hiccuping, gulping for air in a fervor which scares Richie, almost as much as the black eye. He doesn’t know what to do about that, he thinks ice will help, but at this present moment all he can think about is holding Eddie close, rubbing his hands up and down his back, his neck, in his hair, keeping him safe and close and _here_ with him.

“ _Shhhhh_ ” he whispers against Eddies temple, when it sounds like he’s trying to get words out but failing. “ _S’okay, you’re okay, I promise. Got ya, Eds_.” And he does have him. He has him, and he doesn’t give a shit about what’s right or what’s wrong, doesn’t care if this isn’t what best friends are supposed to do, doesn’t care doesn’t care doesn’t care. He’s here, and he’s not fuckin’ leaving Eddie. Never leaving him.

“ _‘M not gonna leave ya, Eds, promise_.” And he’s not sure who he’s saying that for, him or Eddie, and at this point it’s probably a bit of both. He needs Eddie just as much as Eddie needs him, that he’s sure of.

He keeps his arms around Eddie, scooting them both up the bed, until his back hits the headboard; Staring across the room at the blank wall, he’s so sure of his feelings, so sure of his desire, to keep Eddie safe, to keep him here, with him. And he’s so fucking sure that Eddie feels the same. He stays awake until Eddies breathing evens out, his body slack against his own, and he’s awake to see the first bits of dawn paint the wall gold, although he was expecting red. 


	2. Tell Me Now Baby, Is he Good To You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie's so dumb lolllllll

_ Tell me now, baby, is he good to you? _

_ And can he do to you the things that I do? Oh no _

_ I can take you higher _

_ Oh oh oh, I'm on fire _

  
  


Life after that night doesn’t change much at first. The days get shorter, the nights get longer; Before any of them really know it it’s almost Thanksgiving. The day before is a half-day at school, and the last hour drags by painfully slow. 

Richie’s standing by Eddies locker, Stan on his left and Bill on his right, and they’re all talking about holiday plans, Aunts and Uncles coming in from out of state. Stan’s cousin Emiline, who he says is eighteen already, is coming in tonight, and Bill is not-so-subtly drooling over the prospect. Richie tries to pay attention, even gets in a few good chucks from Bill about Stan having the hots for his own cousin, which earns him a sharp jab to the ribs from the man himself. The only person he can’t seem to wriggle any laughter out of is Eddie, and he can’t figure out why. 

Memories of their late-night conversation still linger fresh in Richies mind, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget that whole thing for a  _ long _ time. But the thing is, as much as he thought about crossing that barrier that night, about putting everything on the line and actually, finally adm _ itting _ how he feels, he didn’t. And if Eddie felt anything that night, either, he’s kept his mouth shut about it. But not just about that, he’s been unusually quiet about  _ everything _ since that night. Well, not exactly everything, just everything having to do with Richie. It’s subtle, Richie’s not sure if any of the other Losers have picked up on it. So yeah, not much has changed after that night, but there’s definitely something. . .and it’s only a matter of time before Richie finds out what it is. . .

“ _ — _ sound good to you? Rich?  _ Richie _ , f-fucks sake _ —”  _ Another jab to the ribs, this one from Bill. Richie shakes his head, it’s so obvious he has no  _ idea _ what they were saying. Shit. 

“Uh, yeah, man, totally. . .what exactly should sound good to me. . .?” Bill just chuckles, rolling his eyes. 

“We’re gonna meet at my house on Friday, Stan’s br-bringing the movies and I’ve got the snacks covered. All you and Eds have to do is show up. Muh-Mike said he’s gonna try and make it, too,” He looks at Stan to confirm, who just nods. 

“Sounds just dandy to me, Billiam, wouldn’t miss it for the wooooorld,” Richie latches onto Bills shoulder, slamming his elbow hard against the lockers by accident, and Bill just laughs, shrugging him off. 

“Don’t even know what f-f-fucking voice  _ that _ was supposed to b-be. Come on Stan, let’s get to English before Richie b-breaks his fucking arm.” And they walk off down the hall, leaving just Eddie and Richie, who’s rubbing at his elbow self-consciously. Normally this would be where Eddie calls him an idiot and tells him that he should really stop being so clumsy, he’ll end up killing himself before they even make it to Junior year. But he doesn’t, and Richie can’t fucking figure out what that means. Instead, Eddie just smiles at him kind of awkwardly, before pulling his psych textbook out of his locker. He shuts it gently, making sure it’s locked, before turning back to Richie. 

“I’ll see you at the bikes, I guess,” and then he’s walking away, too, leaving Richie by himself, clutching his elbow and so, so confused. The one-minute bell rings, and he’s still staring at Eddie’s retreating back.. 

  
  


一一一一一一

  
  


Thanksgiving comes and goes like it always does, the house feeling warm and smelling like turkey, Richies Aunt Mildrid coming with her two kids, Josh and Mary. When Richie was little he would play with them, but they’re four years younger than him, and it’s just weird now. But his Mom is happy to be with her sister, so Richies happy too. They even go to church in the morning, something Richie and his family only really do on special occasions. He doesn’t hate it, it’s just always boring to him, having to get all dressed up just to sit in a big room and sing bad songs with people he hardly knows. This year it’s no different, and it’s all he can do to keep from falling asleep in the pew. When the pastor starts really getting into it, and he’s sure they won’t have to do anything for a while, he lets his mind wander. And of course, it wanders itself right to Eddie. He really doesn’t know what to think, he’s never had this problem before. He can’t go to the library and find a book called  _ What To Do If Your Best-Friend/ The Person You Might (Definitely) Have Feelings For Gets All Weird After You Held Them and Told Them You’d Never Leave Them _ , although if there was, he’s pretty sure Ben would be able to get it for him. No, he has no book to tell him what to do, and all he really wants is for things to be normal again, for Eddie to feel like his best friend again. Well, he can’t lie to himself, he really really  _ really _ wants to be more-than-Best-Friends with Eddie, but he knows that’s a long shot, barely any chance of ever happening at all. He’s gonna see him tomorrow, he can talk to him about it.  _ About what? How you wanna suck face practically every time you see him, you sick f _ 一 “uck! What the fuck?” Richie winces, and the whole, big, lousy room practically goes quiet, and he twists around in his seat to find Josh giggling with his sister, Aunt Mildred rolling her eyes, unamused at her children's antics. Richie rubs at the back of his neck, where Josh had poked him really fucking hard.  _ Fuckin’ kids _ . He stares straight ahead at the pastor once again, and tries to figure out what the hell he’s gonna do. 

一一一一一一

He rides his bike to Eddies house at noon on Friday, they’re gonna ride to Bills together. He definitely does not check his hair in the little mirror on his handlebars when he gets a block away from the Kasbrak residence, no sir. 

Eddie’s already sitting on his front steps when Richie pulls up, his bike leaning against the railing. Eddie’s eye is better than it was, the bruising barely even noticeable anymore, but Richie knows that it was there, and it still makes him feel angry just thinking about it. But right now Eddie’s smiling at him, getting up and hopping on his bike, so the feeling in his stomach shifts from anger to pleasant-unease. 

“Bet you Bill’s already hounding Stan about Emiline,” he starts as soon as they’ve left the lawn. He wants to play it safe, talk about stuff they normally do. But Eddie’s not really having it. 

“I don’t get what the big deal is, y’know. So what, she’s eighteen, like there’s any way in Hell Bill would have a shot with her.” He’s keeping his eyes straight, almost standing up on his pedals, and Richie is already panting trying to keep up with him. 

“Maybe一” he wheezes “一maybe it’s a thing. Like, wanting something you can’t have, makes it more exciting. . .” he trails off, he doesn’t like how this sounds. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, and Richie’s glad. He’s falling behind, so he stands up on his own pedals, fighting against the burn in his calves. 

一一一一一一

Richie was right, when they make it into Bills living room the topic of conversation is strictly Emiline, and he can’t bring himself to pretend to care. Bill’s laying on the couch, pretty much taking up the whole thing besides one cushion, where Stan’s sitting. Mike’s nowhere to be seen, probably isn’t there yet, but Richie wishes he was. Mikes never been one to care about girls, at least, not in the same horn-dog way Bill and Stan do. He’s gentler by nature, a real softie. 

Eddie’s already found his place in the empty arm chair, and he’s laughing along to something Bills saying, but it’s not really reaching his eyes. Richie can tell, he’s seen Eddie laugh a thousand times. This was gonna be a  _ loooong _ night. 

一一一一一一

Mike shows up around 5, and he’s like Richies knight in shining denim overalls. Finally, someone to talk to who won’t make him question something about himself morally. They start the movie,  _ Jurassic Park,  _ because it’s Stanely. Due to limited space in Bills living room, someone usually has to end up on the floor in front of the couch, but for some fucking reason, tonight Eddie decided Richie would be sharing the armchair with him. And it’s not as if Richie can say anything about it, cause they’ve shared seats before, hundreds of times, for Gods sake; They sat squashed together in that fucking hammock for 5 years straight, skin to bare skin, in the hundred degree Derry summer swelters. And Richie was never once weird about it. It was just  _ them. _ So he absolutely cannot be weird about it tonight. 

_ It’s just us. _

But, as per usual, nothing ever goes as Richie plans. So when he sits down in the empty space left by Eddie, barely enough to be comfortable, Eddie makes an incredulous sound, as if it’s the weirdest thing in the world for Richie to be giving him some space. He gets up, and sits down again, right on Richies fucking  _ lap.  _

“Woah there, Eds, need to give a guy a warning first. . .” Richie’s not even sure what he  _ means _ , but he has to say  _ something _ , otherwise he’ll do something stupid. He expects the usual  _ Fuck Off, Dipshit _ from Eddie, but, surprise surprise, that’s not what he gets. Eddie just leans back against his chest, not saying a word. Richie’s blushing something fierce, he can feel his whole face turning hot hot  _ hot _ , and Eddies ass on his thighs is sort of short circuiting his brain. He hears himself laugh, but he most certainly doesn’t feel like laughing right now. His hands have a death grip on the arm rests, clutching as if for dear life, and if he has to spend the next hour and a half like this he’ll  _ die.  _ Eddie either doesn’t notice Richies silent struggle, or if he does he doesn’t mention it. In fact, he seems as content as  _ ever _ , finally contributing to the conversation, something Richie can’t follow at the moment but doesn’t even want to. The lights flick off, and Richie shuts his eyes for a second, preparing himself for a torturous evening. 

一一一一一一

Half way through the movie, Richies heart nearly fucking stops. He’s let his guard down, resigned himself to actually enjoying the movie and not focusing on Eddies warm body right on top of his. Tremendously bad move. A joke comes up, Richie can’t even fucking remember what it  _ was _ anymore, but he’d thought it was hilarous enough to repeat in a stupid fucking voice, pulling out the Irish Cop. Everyone had laughed, everyone including Eddie. Hearing that God damn laugh moved something in Richies heart, made him feel a million times better instantly. In his stupid high, he’d pressed his smiling face against Eddies back, wrapping his arms around his waist, just fucking  _ sitting there. _ He could feel Eddie tense up in his arms, and from there he was quick to pull them back, to retreat back into his shell, because Jesus, he’d gotten carried away. Eddie was gonna fucking kill him, he would tell everyone what a fucking creepazoid Richie was, his best friend had been vulnerable and hurt and Richie’d come in and taken advatage of that, had only thought of him _ self _ , like the stupid fucking idiot that he was and oh God he’d ruined it he’d ruined everything holy fucking  _ shit _ 一

“ _ Rich? _ ” It was Eddie, it was Eddie whispering his name, just like that night. Only now they weren’t separated by a phone, now Richie could see him. He could  _ see _ Eddie, who had turned around in his lap, who was looking at him with the most vulnerable face Richie’d ever  _ seen.  _ His eyes all big and soft, his mouth pulled tight, his hands were (holy shit) grabbing at Richies own. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to  _ know.  _

Richie springs up from the arm chair so suddnely, bringing Eddie up with him. None of the others seem to notice, or care, they’re all fixated on the movie. Nevertheless, Richie mumbles a half assed excuse about a cigarette break, which wouldn’t even need Eddie’s assistance anyways, but it’s enough. 

Richie leads them to Bills bathroom, can’t think of any other place that would be as private. Shutting the door after Eddie comes through, he feels as if this is the smallest room in the world. The bright lights reflecting off the ceramic countertop sting Richies eyes, and the blue walls seem to be closing in on them. His eyes find Eddie, standing there wringing his hands together like he’s about to  _ cry _ , and he just loses everything that had been building up since that night. The flood gates are torn away, and it all comes out. 

“Eddie, listen to me, I really need you to fucking listen to me, because I don’t think I can say this more than once, but Jesus  _ fucking Christ _ , I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what that fucking means and if you think I’m totally fucking weird then I’m really really sorry but please just fucking tell me what you’re feeling because I feel like I’m gonna exp _ lode _ 一” Eddies mouth is on his, and Richie thinks he blacks out for a second. Really he’s just closing his eyes, but it feels close to a full blown black out. He kisses back, though, practically slobbering into Eddies mouth, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Eddies sweater, pulling him closer and closer. Eddies hands are around his neck, lifting himself up, and Richies pretty sure Eddies standing on his tip toes right now and  _ holy fucking shit he’s kissing Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak is kissing  _ him! 

They part eventually, Eddie pulling away, because it seems that he can’t reach up for that long. Richie laughs harder than he intends to, but shit, he’s so relieved and shocked and  _ happy _ that he doesn’t care if he sounds insane right now. He keeps his hands around Eddies waist, smiling down at him, and he remembers that they’re in Bills bathroom right now. 

“So. . .does that mean you like me too, or. . .?” He knows he’s being a shit right now, but it makes Eddie laugh.    
  


“Yeah, dipshit, I fuckin’ like you too. Why the Hell did you think I was being so  _ weird _ since that night you reverse-Rapunzeled your way into my room?” And Jesus Christ, Richie is an idiot. He sighs, long and hard, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against Eddies hair. And just because he fucking can, he plants a big kiss right to the top of Eddies head. 

“We really are stupid, I guess.” But he doesn’t even care, because that’s over now. 

“Grade A ignoramuses, both of us.” But Eddies already reaching up again, standing up on his tiptoes, and Richie gets an idea. He plants both of his hands on Eddies thighs, lifting him up and plopping him down right on the bathroom counter. Before Eddie even has a chance to yell at him for manhandling him, he’s pressing a soft kiss to his mouth, and now that they’re pretty much at the same height, it’s much easier. Things get heated pretty quick, tongues sliding together, hands in each others hair, and Richies whole body is on  _ fire _ , and it feels like this is the best night of his whole life. Eddie’s sighing against his mouth, and he’s licking Eddies fucking tongue, which is just mind-blowingly amazing, totally should have done this  _ years _ ago. But, like all good things, it ends way too fucking quickly, with a loud knocking on the door. They both freeze, still tangled up together, panting hard, and Richie’s the one to speak up. 

“Uh, who is it?” And Eddie almost blows it all, by laughing so loud, because  _ who the Hell asks who’s knocking on the bathroom door!? _ But he manages to stifle his laughter by pressing his face against Richies chest.    
  


“Um, it’s Mike. Could you hurry up, Rich, you’ve been in there forever.” And Richies quick to shout that he’ll be out soon. Only once he hears Mikes retreating foot steps does he allow himself to relax again, pulling Eddie into a hug, pressing his face into his neck. 

“We should probably get back out there. . .don’t want Mike to piss his pants. . .” But he really doesn’t want to. Eddie nods, but he doesn’t hop down from the counter, he just wraps his legs around Richies waist and tightens the hug. 

Richie knows they have a lot to talk about. He knows that this is potentially gonna create a lot more problems. But right now, hugging Eddie in Bills bathroom, having just  _ kissed _ Eddie, he doesn’t care. He has Eddie back again, this time better than ever, and he’s gonna try his fucking best to keep him. He squeezes Eddie against him, listening to the distant sounds of the movie playing down the hall, and he knows that this is exactly what he wants. 

  
“ _ I got ya, Eds. I promise _ .” 


	3. Someone Took A Knife, Baby, Edgy and Dull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry Bowers is a dickhead. That's it, to be honest.

_Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull,_

_And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull_

Life is hard as shit. For like, half of the time you’re alive, life fucking _sucks_. The good doesn’t really outweigh the bad, it just makes the bad bearable. Not easier, just bearable. That’s one of the first things Richie realizes after his and Eddies revelation came to pass. 

When it’s just the two of them, _RichieandEddie_ , life is perfect. When they’re hidden away, alone in the club house, or tucked up inside Richies bedroom, the darkness of night acting as their shield, life is wonderful. They know what they mean to each other, and they know that what they have isn’t wrong, or gross, or sinful in any way. But it’s easy to believe that when it’s just them. Outside, surrounded by the world, it’s different. 

They can’t hold hands around the Losers yet, or do anything that isn’t strictly platonic, which, to be fair, with them that leaves a lot of wiggle room. It’s just, they still don’t want to take that chance of someone letting something slip. They know that they’re their best friends, and Richie’s like, 70% sure Mike’s at least a little bit gay, too. But they’re just not ready. They often talk about this, in those precious moments when it’s just them, and ideas can flow freely without judgement. Eddie talks about maybe coming out to the Losers with a note, an idea that’s quickly shot down by Richie. ( _It’d never work, I don’t think Stan can even read._ **_Beep Beep, Rich_ ** _)_ . He says they could maybe just tell one person at first, like maybe just Bill ( _Are you kidding me, Eds? Has there ever been any secret that Bill’s kept for more than 10 minutes!? Big Bill blabs more than Greta fucking Bowie!)_ , which is also vetoed by Richie. All in all, they can never really agree on when or who or how to tell them, so they just don’t. It makes things simultaneously easier and more difficult. 

Easier, because, if Richie admits it to himself, he sorta likes having Eds all to himself. Not in a pervy way, he just likes knowing that Eddie’s not gonna be taken away from him, by another guy or by Sonia, who would absolutely flip her lid if she ever found out the things her son is doing with _that rotten Tozier boy_. So for now, he feels okay with being the only other person who knows about him and Eddie. 

On the other side of things, not telling anyone makes it more difficult, in a lot of ways. They have to watch their backs whenever they’re in public, never letting anyone even get the _chance_ to suspect something’s up. It’s a frustrating thing, and it’s honestly so fucking tiring; Richie’s so worn out at the end of every school day, his chest feels tight to the point of bursting, and the only way he can feel better is by dragging Eddie up to his room under the guise of homework and just laying on his bed with Eds, wrapped up in each others arms. He knows it affecting Eddie too, he can see it in his sunken eyes and tired smile, but it’s a hard thing to admit to himself. The fact that it’s _him, Richie_ , who’s making Eddie feel so worried and anxious all the time. But every time he brings it up, Eddie just tells him to fuck off, _I’d rather be with you and worried all the time than not be with you at all._ Richie resigns himself to stop feeling so guilty all the time, or at least try to. 

Even with the daily frustrations, everything seems to be going pretty well in Richies eyes. He gets to kiss Eddie whenever he wants, as long as they’re alone. Gets to hold his soft hand in his own, gets to play with Eddies baby-soft hair, which smells like apple shampoo and happiness. He gets to care about Eddie the way he’s always wanted to -- always has. And he gets to know that Eddie cares about him in the same turns-your-heart-to-gush way. It’s a pretty amazing thing, when he thinks about it. 

But if there’s one person in the world who can take anything Richie deems important and stomp it into the ground, it’s Henry fucking Bowers. The crude, insufferable boy seems to pick up on Richies worry pretty quickly, somehow. It’s like he has a built in sensor that goes off whenever Richie has anything to hide. 

It’s the middle of December, the leaves are off the trees, and Derry is perpetually gray. New England Winter is coming, any day now there’ll be a layer of gray, dirty snow covering every lawn, every roof, every sidewalk and parking lot. But for now the dirt of the baseball field behind Tracker Bros. is hard and cold under Richies sneakers, packed down and unmoving, even when he tries to stick his heel in it. He’s taking the shortcut home from school today, through the play field, like he has a thousand times before, ‘cause it beats walking by City Center, where the Paul Bunyan statue stands in it’s behemothianess. For some reason it’s always just freaked him out, in a way he can’t really explain. Plus, he wants to get home quick so he can finish his homework early, and call Eds, who’d had to stay after to retake a math test he’d flunked ( _Geez, Eds, I’m a math whiz, next time just ask and I’ll help you cheat._ **_BEEP BEEP RICH_ ** ). Richie would have plenty of time to get all his work done, and then Eddie would come over and they could read Superman or listen to Eddies favorite Billy Joel album _The Stranger_ (which Richie got for him the other week after they saw it at the store) or just make out for a while. He honestly doesn’t care what they do, as long as he gets his Eds time. 

Lost in a daydream, humming the tune of _Vienna_ , Richie doesn’t even notice when another shadow appears beside his own, not until he’s shoved hard into the cold dirt ground. He tries to brace himself with his elbows, but they just slam down hard, little pebbles sticking to his hands when he scrambles to push himself up. 

“What the _fuck_ \--” Another shove, right into his backpack, and he’s down in the dirt again. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose, threatening to fall right off, but Richie’s quick to shove them back up. He’s only wearing a t-shirt, because he’d lent his hoodie to Eddie, who has to walk home too, and Richie just had to be a gentleman. He can feel the goosebumps on the skin of his arms, on the back of his neck, and his teeth start to chatter in his mouth. He finally manages to twist around, scrambling on his butt away from his attacker, the ground even colder on the seat of his pants. It’s Henry, laughing hysterically to himself, wearing his stupid fucking leather jacket, his mouth curled up into a vicious, twisted grin. He sounds like a hyena, or a fucking banshee, and it makes Richies stomach broil, his chest tight, and the adreniline is gushing through his veins at warp speed. Henry doesn’t even move when Richie finally stands up, brushing off the seat of his pants, keeping his front towards the bully, eyes sharp. But as soon as he makes a turn to book it out of there, Henry’s on him again, and he makes another shove at him. This time Richie expects it, so he doesn’t hit the ground, he just teeters back and forth for a few seconds, before he straightens out again. He takes a few more steps backwards, his eyes locked onto Henrys, which are practically yellow, Richie would swear. 

“What the fuck is your problem, man?” He keeps his voice pretty level, while keeping his distance, as his years of Henry experience has taught him to do. The bully just sneers, and his teeth remind Richie of a rotten dog, evil and cruel and easily ticked off. 

“ _You_ , little fairy boy. I been seein’ you gettin’ real close to that girly boy of yours. Real fuckin’ close, yeah. I saw ya giving him your sweater today, fuckin’ _faggot_.” He’s moving closer to Richie again, but Richies got the open field behind him, and he knows it’s just a straight shot across the empty gravel lot, past the Tracker Bros. warehouse, and then he’s out on Up-Mile Hill. He’s faster than Henry, he’s just gotta time it right. Henry’s still spouting shit, bits of spittle flying off his lips -- he’s practically seething. “Your lucky he’s not here right now, ‘else I’d show him just how fuckin’ kindly I take to _girly_ boys like him prancin’ around like he’s some kind of _whore_.” And Richie stops backing up, because it feels like Henry punched him again, despite there being a good amount of space between them. He feels absolutely floored, and he knows this is what Henry fucking _wants._ He’s trying to get a rise out of Richie, there’s no way he actually knows about what him and Eddie do when they’re alone. He’s just a fucking bully. But it still hurts, it still knocks the wind right out of his lungs, to hear him say all this stuff about Eddie. It fucking hurts. Henry's awful grin grows wider, Richie can see his fleshy pink gums, no doubt inflamed beyond belief. The coldness of the air makes Henrys breath visible, a puff of hot, stinking steam, which Richie wants to bat away with his hand, even though it comes nowhere near him. Another step, and another, and each time Richie retreats back as well. It’s a game, it’s always a game with Bowers. Cat and mouse. Big Bully and _Little Fairy_ _Faggot._ It’s a name Richies heard for years, and there’s never been any real evidence behind it, but it’s harder to take now. Gets under his skin and really digs in. He almost wants to laugh, almost has half a mind to take Henrys rotten horrible hand in his and give him a good shake, tell him _Wow, Bowers, I guess you can really pick ‘em when you see ‘em, huh?_ But only half a mind, cause the other half is too busy freaking the fuck out, trying to figure out what to do. 

With Bowers advancing towards him, and his heart hammering in his chest, Richie gives one last look to the bully, their eyes meeting for just a second, and Richie can swear he sees pure evil, just total and utter hatred for everything and everyone, and it’s all living right there inside Henry fucking Bowers. He gives another snarling smile, thinking he’s won, and he’s about to lay another punch right to Richies face. Only he doesn’t get the chance, because Richie shoots off like a bat out of Hell, leaving skid marks on the hardened dirt, and he’s halfway across the lot before Henry can even make a move in his direction. 

“ _Fuckin’ faggot! Son of a Bitch!”_ He hears the shouts, but only just barely, they’re pretty much drowned out by the wind rushing past his ears, which have turned practically numb in the cold air. His lungs burn and his eyes sting, but he keeps on running, sprinting, pushing his legs to go faster, faster, _faster_ , and once he takes the sharp left down Up-Mile Hill he doesn’t slow down, he keeps straight on running until he’s absolutely sure he can’t hear footsteps behind him, until he’s certain that Bowers has given up. He collapses onto his front porch, gulping down huge lungfuls of chilled air, his skin cold with drying sweat. His legs ache, and he doesn’t know if he’s crying or not, but he doesn’t even care anymore. _Fuck Bowers. Fuck his stupid smug smile, fuck his ugly no-good mug. Fuck fuckity FUCK._

And then he remembers -- Eddie is still at school, where Bowers no doubt slunked his way back to. He’s still there, _alone!_ And oh God, what was that shit Bowers was saying, he’s _lucky he’s not here right now. . . prancin’ around like he’s some kind of_ **_whore_ ** . . . Richie shivers again just thinking about Bowers laying a hand on Eddie, he can’t imagine what the demented bully would do to him if he gets him alone. Richie squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries to think, to figure out what he’s gonna do. If he stays here it’s no use, Eddie said he’s going back to his own house to drop off his bag. He’ll be alone, no doubt taking the same shortcut through the baseball field. _Shit, okay, okay, think Tozier,_ **_think._ ** If he left right now, he could maybe make it back to school in time to catch Eddie before he leaves. But fuck, what if he runs into Bowers again on his way? Richie rubs the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, groaning dully. He’s just gonna have to hope for the best. He’d outrun Bowers already, he could do it again. He’ll have to. He can’t just leave Eddie unprotected, unaware, all alone. But holy _shit_ , if Bowers sees Richie coming to Eddies rescue he’s really gonna lay it on ‘em. _Don’t let him see you, simple as that._ Richie groans again, standing up, the old boards under his feet creaking. He chucks his backpack to the porch floor, and then he’s off again, booking it down the street, keeping his eyes peeled for Bowers. 

一一一一一一

He slips in through the side door, next to the gym, because he knows it always unlocked. Years of sneaking out of class with Beverly Marsh to go smoke a Camel under the bleachers had made him wise to the intricacies of the high schools many doors. So far, no sign of Henry, which is great, but also no sign of Eddie, which isn’t that great. Richie wants to find him, for fear that Bowers will beat him to it. He’s keeping his footsteps quiet, and to any passerby he knows he probably looks like such a fucking tool, _007_ _wannabe_. But he knows he’s better safe than sorry. One quick turn down the Science Hall, up the stairs, and down three doors to Mrs. Cleary’s room; 10th Grade Algebra. Richie keeps his back to the wall as he approaches, craning his neck to peer in through the little rectangular window. He sees a girl talking to Mrs. Cleary at her desk, but besides her it’s just empty desks. _Shit._ That means Eddie’s either already home, (please dear God let him be home already) or he’s on his way now. Alone, and totally exposed, with Bowers somewhere in the vicinity, ready to do heaven knows what to him. It’s that thought that gets Richies feet moving again, and now he’s not bothering to sneak around. He’s running down the hall, looking this way and that, passing by Eddies locker, which is vacant. He only passes one other kid the whole time, some Freshman he doesn’t know. Down by the main office now, he’s starting to pick up his pace, his heart racing in his chest, eyes wide and frantic. He bursts out the front doors of the school, searching around the stairs and front green. He’s just about to take off towards the street when he spots him -- Eddie’s walking down the sidewalk, about to turn into Bassey Park. Richies heart seizes in his chest just a little bit at the sight of him, both out of relief and love. He’s got his backpack tight around both shoulders, and he’s wearing Richies sweatshirt, the big blue _Gap_ one that was huge even on Richie. On Eddies slim frame it hung down to his thighs, and it pooled around his wrists, making it almost impossible to see his hands. But it was warm, and that’s why Richie’d lent it to him. He’s alone, and he’s safe and warm, and Richie is so fucking ecstatic to see him. He also feels a little creepy just standing there staring at him, so he takes off down the street, catching up with him. 

Eddie turns around quick at the sound of footsteps approaching, and he does a double take when he sees it’s Richie, taking in his disheveled appearance. 

“Uh, hey Rich. . .”

Richie has to put his hands on his knees and bend over, catching his breath. He hasn’t run this much in, damn he can’t even remember how long. His heart is just starting to calm down, but he knows he still can’t let his guard down, Bowers is still out there somewhere. He just has to get them home safe. 

“Hi baby, not much time for talk, we kinda gotta run,” and he looks around them quickly, making sure there’s no prying eyes or judgemental gazes. When he’s sure it’s clear he grabs Eddies hand, and starts running again, this time dragging Eddie along with him. Eddie’s confused but doesn’t protest, he knows there must be a reason, he figures it’s probably not good. Richie doesn’t even slow down when they make it to the baseball diamond; they sprint right through, looking over his shoulder every few seconds just in case, past Tracker Bros., back down Up-Mile Hill, and onto Richies front porch at last. He grabs his bag off the ground, digs his key out, and opens the front door with a yank. _Safe and sound and home_. Only once he and Eddie have passed the threshold, and the door slams shut behind them, does he breath out a deep sigh of relief. 

一一一一一一

Up in Richies bedroom, with the door locked, Eddies questions are answered, and he looks almost sheepish at the thought of Richie going through that much trouble just to make sure he was safe. Richie sits them both down on his bed -- well, he sits on the bed, Eddie’s more or less on his lap. He runs a hand through Eddies hair, revelling in its softness. 

“Eds, what the fuck, of course I wanna keep you safe. You think I’d let Bowers lay a hand on you?” Eddie just shrugs, and Richies heart lurches. He grips onto Eddie’s waist with his other hand, jostling him just a little. “Baby, he called you a --” he swallows, leaning his forehead against Eddies. It hurt to think about it, Bowers’ evil smile, his cruel voice, his disgusting hands, anywhere near Eddie, sweet, lovely Eddie. _Richies_ Eddie. “-- _a whore_.” He whispers it, because it doesn’t feel right to say it loud. Eddie shudders, and he grabs onto Richies arms. 

“What-what else did he say?” 

Richie doesn’t really want to tell him, doesn’t want to scare him any more. But fuck it, Eddie’s strong. He isn’t weak, or frail, or a little sissy _girly-boy_. He’s the bravest person Richie knows, shit, he’s braver than Richie himself, he knows it. But still, a part of Richie just wants to keep him safe, just wants to protect him. He sighs, and he meets Eddies eyes. 

“He, uh, he knows about us. Or--he _thinks_ he does. Probably just thinks he’s messing with us. But fuck, Eds, I was scared shitless. It felt like he had X-Ray vision, like he could see right into my fuckin’ heart, see how much I care about you. . .” He stops, because he’s just scaring himself at this point. He doesn’t really feel like talking about Bowers anymore -- they’re safe now, what does it matter. He slips his hand under Eddies sweatshirt -- _his_ sweatshirt, feeling the warm skin of his waist. Eddie’s looking at him, his big brown eyes so gentle and soft, and Richie is so in love. 

They’re kissing, Richie’s pulling Eddie close, and Eddie’s wrapping his legs around Richie’s waist, his arms around his neck. They part for a moment, their foreheads pressed together. They’re breathing in the same air, safe inside Richies bedroom, hidden away from the world. Richie knows this isn’t ideal, he knows they don’t have it all figured out, and he knows that everything kind of fucking sucks right now. They can't tell their friends, they can't tell anyone, really. They have to take shit from stupid bullies, run and hide and hold each other close. Yeah, life is hard as shit. But they have each other, and despite the fear, despite the anxiety, despite the pain, they might just be enough, life might be more than just bearable. He pulls Eddie closer by the front of his sweater, and they fall against the bed, laughing like idiots. Outside his window, it starts to snow.


End file.
